What’s in a name?
A self-examination of two life-defining syllables
My name is ChoCho. Its pronunciation might not match how it looks: choo-choo. I have (much to my chagrin), on several occasions, had to tell people “like a train” for them to get it. It’s spelled C-H-O-C-H-O, two capital C’s, no spaces, no hyphens, no hidden syllables. Just ChoCho. I understand that my name is unusual. People remind me often. But nevertheless, it is my name. Legally, however, I’m Gabriela. Telling people that always gets me a specific kind of facial expression, usually some combination of bewilderment and an unspoken “Huh?” The follow-up question always arrives right on beat: “Well, where does ChoCho come from, then?”
There’s something about unusual names that invites interrogation — especially names that don’t fit neatly into whatever category people expect you to be in. Often, that interrogation causes you to question yourself. To what extent does that challenge one’s self-perception? The constant push and pull I get from my name has forged me into someone who sometimes pulls in and sometimes pushes back.
It should be noted that living with a nickname like mine is hugely different from having a unique legal name. My experience falls into the first category. “Gabriela” is as conventional as it gets; I can put it on a résumé, a college application, tax forms — anything that demands a “normal” identity. Then, in real life, I exist as ChoCho, which is a kind of linguistic curveball for everyone else, but for me, it’s just me.
The reactions to unusual names of any sort, though, as I can imagine, are likely equally uncomfortable across the board. In fact, the word “uncomfortable” doesn’t fully explain the experience.
I have gotten everything from “Oh, your parents are assholes” to “That’s a name I won’t forget.” Thank you? I guess? I’m just as shocked to receive these remarks as strangers are to hear my name. The most outrageous response I remember came from my little brother’s friend: “Your name is just a sound.” Aren’t all names just sounds? I must admit, I got a good laugh out of it. My personal favorite is the recurring “Where does that come from?” which is usually asked in a tone reserved for mysterious medical conditions or exotic foods. I always answer with, “Oh, it’s actually a cute story,” which is true — but the fact that I have to explain my name to strangers at all says something bigger. People are deeply uncomfortable with the unknown, and my name becomes acceptable only once it’s validated by a sweet familial backstory. There has to be a rhyme and reason to my name in order for others to be okay with it. Why can’t my name just be a name?
There is research on this phenomenon. According to an article from the University of Michigan’s Research Center for Group Dynamics, studies since the 1940’s show people with unusual names often become symbols of their parents’ cultural identity, their social risks, or their desire to “stand out” in a world that rewards conformity (Platt, 2023). I wasn’t the one who chose my nickname — my parents did. My name was originally a nickname for my dad, a private name used only between my parents. The name ChoCho is a representation of not just me, but the relationship that precedes me. It went from a term of endearment to a physical, tangible person. A name, ever immortalized in a life. It is not just a name — it’s my name.
Despite it being unique, especially to those who don’t know the backstory, I still go by ChoCho. Sometimes, people don’t understand this. “Well, if you don’t like ChoCho then why not be called Gabriela?” Most people don’t get to pick their own names. If I didn’t like being called ChoCho, then I wouldn’t have picked it if, in fact, I had been able to make that decision. So when someone treats it like some kind of paradoxical branding choice I made for myself, it feels oddly misplaced, like I’m being judged for a tattoo I don’t have.
A 2021 BBC article explains that people with uncommon names often develop heightened awareness of how they’re perceived, because their lives are filled with tiny micro-interactions in which their name becomes a topic of conversation (Jarrett, 2021). Honestly, this checks out. When your existence begins with correcting someone, it shapes the tone of your communication. You become more patient, or less patient; more self aware, or more performative; more flexible, or more defiant. I live somewhere in between, some kind of liminal name-space. I am always actively aware of my name, my identity in relation to others, as well as other people’s perception of me. But I also actively ignore the implications of those outside opinions.
Nonetheless, as the article explains, my perception does affect me. I have worked to prove that I’m “normal” despite my not-normal name, or to show my name does not limit my performance or intellect. But I have also tried to own my name, and build up my esteem so as not to care one way or another whatever people think of it. At the end of the day, whether positive or negative, my name has affected how I view myself and my actions. I’m sure this is true of the majority as well, but particularly so for those of us with different names.
An in-group forms among people with unusual names. You can sense someone who grew up doing the same thing you do — explaining, defending, laughing it off. And there is a marked difference between people with statistically uncommon names, like Guinevere or Ulysses, and those with unusual or unique names, like ChoCho. One group receives more strange looks than the other. Moreover, as many name studies point out, there is a lot of variation in what one test subject considers unusual to another.
The common thread amongst anybody with a different, uncommon, unique name is the impact of one’s name. A recent article from The Guardian affirms this. Unusual names can bring attention “you would never choose,” but they can also shape resilience, flexibility, and creativity (Russell, 2025). It’s not inherently good or bad; it’s just part of how the world reads you. Sometimes incorrectly. But it is ultimately us who get to choose how we respond to it.
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I actually do like my name, though. I think it suits me. I’m not really a Gabriela — at least not in the “Hi, I’m Gabby and I play soccer all summer!” sense people expect (the camp counselor version of myself). None of the nicknames associated with Gabriela suit me either: Bri, Gabi/Gabby, Ella (however, I must note that “Gabi” is the name on my Starbucks account because I simply cannot deal with the misspelling and mispronunciation; I’d rather choose my battles and enjoy my coffee). When some people hear my legal name is Gabriela, I get two classic responses. The first is: “Oh, that makes sense. A lot of Asians give their kids super American names.” Which is wrong on at least three levels: 1) I am not fully Asian; 2) Gabriela is not a “super American” name (it has both religious and cultural roots that are not American); and 3) I didn’t ask you to assess the sociopolitical implications of my birth certificate.
The other reaction is: “So, why don’t you go by Gabriela instead of ChoCho?” As if I need to dislike my first name in order not to use it. Maybe I just prefer the one everyone thinks is strange. It’s like a primer for new people I meet. “ChoCho” lets them know what they’re getting into. A 2011 study analyzing the frequency of popular names in several countries found that people in individualistic cultures, typically in frontier geographies, tend to name their children more uncommon names (Varnum & Kitayama, 2011). People in regions settled by Europeans, like the United States and Australia, have significantly less common first names than people in Europe. If that’s true, then my nickname lets people peer into the culture that made me.
While I don’t think that living in a country settled by Europeans was the deciding factor of my naming, I recognize that I come from an amalgamation of histories. Perhaps that diversity does not call for an identity that is a seamless blend of these backgrounds, but that instead, it calls for something entirely new. Something like my name. A name is an identifier. My name and the ideas it imparts are an identifier for me.
It makes me wonder what’s really in a name. Parents name their kids based on a variety of factors. When one chooses to change what they were given, how does that impact them? People change their names all the time: sometimes for safety, sometimes for self-expression, sometimes because their parents truly were assholes. But even though ChoCho can get annoying at times, I would never change it. It’s stitched into my identity. Personally, I think it’s somewhat disrespectful to my parents. And honestly, it’s too late. My name is in my bones. Same with Gabriela. Even if I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t change it. It’s my birth name; it’s a part of where I’m from. Names carry history, whether or not we acknowledge it. Plus, it’s a cute nickname. It’s feminine, but eccentric. It looks great when you write it in cursive. And once people actually know me, the name stops being a spectacle. It just becomes another name, like any other name, that nobody thinks that hard about after the first five minutes.
But still, it is so annoying to have to spell it out every time, correct pronunciation, correct spelling, correct the assumption that I’m saying JuJu, or Choo — Choo, or Coco. You would be surprised how many combinations people try before they settle on the one I already gave them. That being said, things aren’t completely bleak for us folks with strange names. Research performed on social perceptions of unusual first names showed no significant difference in intelligence between people with common versus rare names (Zweigenhaft, 1983). In fact, the researchers found that unusually named women scored higher on personality tests for socially desirable traits such as self-acceptance, achievement, sociability, and capacity for status.
In consideration with my own experiences, perhaps the findings are sound. I’ve been pushed into uncharted territory because of my name. When you are consistently told that you occupy a vastly different niche than others around you, it changes your perception of yourself. Maybe my name has forced me to become resourceful: instead of looking to others for what we have in common to find community, acceptance, achievement, I’ve built it myself, and even found commonality in our differences. If my “weird” name allows me to do that, then that doesn’t sound so bad to me.
I’ve lived my life with two names: one easy for institutions and one that forces people to pause. And that pause — sometimes awkward, sometimes annoying — has become a defining space. It’s where strangers reveal their assumptions. It’s where I reveal my story. It’s where I form my identity in the push and pull between what is labeled “normal” and what is treated as
“other.” Research may reveal outstanding positives and fiendish negatives associated with unique names, but my name’s greatest impact is the special opportunity it presents for me to decide who I choose to be.
Some people get to move through life without narrating themselves. I don’t. My name forces me to. And maybe that’s not a burden. Maybe it’s a kind of clarity. My name is unusual. But so am I. And I think that’s the point. That’s what’s in a name.
References
Jarrett, C. (2021, May 25). How your name affects your personality. BBC. Retrieved December 3, 2025, from https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20210525-how-your-name-affects-your-personality
Platt, T. (2023, December 18). Do you have an unusual name? Your parents’ cultural sense of self may have something to do with it. Research Center for Group Dynamics. Retrieved December 3, 2025, from https://rcgd.isr.umich.edu/news-events/in-the-news/do-you-have-an-unusual-name-your-parents-cultural-sense-of-self-may-have-something-to do-with-it/
Russell, E. (2025, November 13). ‘You get more attention than you would choose’: how an unusual name can shape your life — for better or worse. The Guardian. Retrieved December 3, 2025, from https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2025/nov/13/you-get-more-attention-than-you- would-choose-how-an-unusual-name-can-shape-your-life-for-better-or-worse
Zweigenhaft, R. L. (1983, December 1). Unusual First Names: A Positive Outlook. Names | A Journal of Onomastics, 31(4), 258–270. https://doi.org/10.1179/nam.1983.31.4.258
Varnum, M. E., & Kitayama, S. (2011). What’s in a name?: popular names are less common on frontiers. Psychological science, 22(2), 176–183.
https://doi.org/10.1177/0956797610395396
